Page 59 of Three Months Yesterday

How can she expect to build something real, something lasting, when she isn’t being honest?

Her grip on my hand tightens, bringing the room back into focus. My eyes land on hers and all I see is panic and fear shining through.

“Beckett,” she releases on a choked breath. “I didn’t know.”

I don’t know what it is—the panicked look in her eyes or the fear in her voice—but I know with one glance that this is as surprising to her as it is to me.

“Shh,” I soothe. “We’ll talk about that later. Let’s just make sure you’re both okay first.”

The collar comes off first, a relief so profound I almost weep. Then the backboard, sliding out from beneath me with gentle efficiency, leaving me finally able to shift my hips. To feel like a human being again instead of a specimen pinned for examination.

I never realized how much I take for granted the simple act of moving until it’s ripped away from me. Hearing the news I’m pregnant—something I still can’t fathom—and being unable to do anything except stare at what’s above me was unbearable.

Dr. Winter finishes her neurological exam, asking me to follow her finger with my eyes, squeeze her hands, wiggle my toes. I answer her questions mechanically, my mind already drifting elsewhere.

August. That was the last time Mark and I were together. About a week before we broke up.

I count backward in my head, my fingers curling into the thin hospital blanket. That makes it almost five months. About eighteen weeks if I’m right.

How have I not known? How have I missed the signs?

It’s normal for me to miss periods, but five months’ worth? I can’t say I even realized it had been that long, but if I did, I probably would’ve blamed it on the stress, just like I have the fatigue and the nausea. Everyone’s pointed out just how much I’ve been working, how little time I’ve taken for myself over the last few years.

All my attention has been on the inn, on rebuilding my house and the cottage, on my family. I never took the time to notice how out of sync everything had become.

“Considering your fall, everything looks good. Your CT scan came back clear,” Dr. Winters says, making a note on her tablet before meeting my eyes. “With the concussion we’re going to keep you for observation, but I don’t see any red flags. OB should be down within the hour for an ultrasound, and then we’ll work on getting you a room.”

She squeezes my shoulder once and offers Beckett a brief nod before slipping out of the room, leaving us alone with the weight of so many unknowns around us.

The silence stretches, thin and fragile. My throat is tight and my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. Not here. Not now.

I can’t look at him or speak. I don’t have the words.

“Madison.” His voice is gentle, careful in a way that makes my chest ache.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out raw and broken, but I force myself to meet his eyes. The bright blue ones that look at me like I’m something precious. Someone worth knowing.

He pulls the stool a nurse brought him closer to the bed and takes a seat, studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.

“Beckett, I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “I had no idea. I swear to you, if I’d known I would have told you.” My eyes fall shut and I shake my head, unable to look at him. “I wouldn’t have started anything with you if I’d known.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and it’s not until I feel his fingers brush my temple that I finally open my eyes again. He shifts closer to the bed, close enough his knees brush against the rail, and takes my hand in both of his.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I⁠—”

“Madison.” He squeezes my fingers, his thumb tracing slow circles across my knuckles. “We haven’t known each other long, there’s still so much to learn.” A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’d be crazy for either of us to think the other didn’t have a life before we met. Entire lives, with years of history and complications and…” His eyes fall to my stomach before coming back to mine. “Babies, apparently.”

I laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” he teases and his eyes soften, something tender moving through his expression. “Maybe not the situation, but the timing sure is. The universe clearly has a sense of humor where we’re concerned.”

I want to lean into him, to let him wrap me in his arms and pretend, just for a moment, that this isn’t happening. But as he draws closer to me, I know I have to pull away. Some instinct for self-preservation rearing its head.

This is too much. I’m too much. My life is a tangled mess of running a business I don’t have total control over and family obligations I won’t turn away from. And now, somehow, a pregnancy I’ve been too busy to see.

How can I ask anyone to tackle all that? Let alone someone who’s trying to figure out what they want to do with their future.